“Hurry it up, goddamnit,” Fat Ernst hissed from between clenched teeth. “This ain’t exactly healthy for business.”

We were halfway down the bar when Heck starting shrieking again. His body twitched and convulsed; as he jerked, I lost my grip on his right hand and his head and shoulder slammed to the floor. “Oh shit, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I whimpered, reaching down to pick him up again.

Ray walked in the front door.

CHAPTER 18

We all froze, except for Heck, who was shaking his head violently from side to side, spattering more blood all over the floor like a weak sprinkler on a dead lawn.

Ray swallowed, eyes wide. It was obvious he didn’t know what to say. A toneless “Howdy, Ernst,” tumbled out of his mouth. As if he were almost ashamed of not being sociable or something, he quickly added, “How’s business?”

Fat Ernst dropped Heck’s legs. They hit the floor and stayed there. Didn’t bounce, nothing. He stared at Ray. “Business? Business couldn’t be fucking better.”

Ray nodded as if that made perfect sense. He looked down at Heck. “Heck been drinking paint thinner again?”

“Shit. What do you think? Looks like it, don’t it?” Fat Ernst said quickly, words stumbling over each other.

“I don’t think—,” I started to say before I could stop myself.

“Shut. Your. Hole,” Fat Ernst said. “I ain’t paying you to think.”

Ray adjusted his hat and ambled over to Heck’s body. “Looks serious. Maybe I better take a look.” He knelt down and nudged Heck. “What’s wrong?”

Heck gasped once, and bubbles of blood erupted around his mouth and nose. Each muscle began to slacken, releasing its tension as one by one, the bubbles popped. Then he lay still.

“Is he dead?” I whispered.

Ray watched Heck’s face for a moment, then nodded soberly. “Yep. I declare this man officially dead.”

“Can’t you do something?” I asked.

Ray looked up at me and shrugged. “You want to give him CPR? Go right ahead.”

I looked at Heck’s open mouth, filled with blood, and didn’t say anything.

“Wonder what killed him,” Ray said.

“Hell, he’s been dying for years.” Fat Ernst proclaimed. “If his liver didn’t explode ‘cause of the booze, then it was the cancer that got him. Or the paint thinner.”

“Heck had cancer?” Ray asked.

“What the hell else do you think happened?”

“Maybe it was something he ate,” I suggested and immediately knew it was the wrong thing to say.

“Maybe you oughta shut your fucking hole and get to cleaning that goddamn bathroom.” Fat Ernst glanced down at Ray. “Grab his arms there. We’ll drag him out the back door. Lay him out the loading dock for now. There’s a tarp under the sink in the kitchen, roll him up in that.”

“Just … just hold on a minute here,” Ray said, standing and holding up his hand as if he was directing traffic. “As an official of the law, I can’t just leave Heck here. I’m gonna have to write up some kinda report on this, you know.”

Fat Ernst spoke in a low, firm voice. “There ain’t nothing we can do. He’s dead and that’s tough, but I ain’t gonna call anybody just yet. We’re going to take care of this quiet. The last fucking thing I need isfor this to get out. Business is shitty enough as it is. I don’t need some stupid goddamn thing like a dead body to keep customers away.” He hitched up his jeans and narrowed his eyes. “You got that, Ray?”

Ray pulled in his chin until it was nearly touching his swollen Adam’s apple. “I dunno, Ernst. I mean, this ain’t the kind of thing I can just ignore …”

Fat Ernst glared at Ray for a moment, then stepped over Heck and shoved me into the restroom. “Be right back, Ray,” he said over his shoulder. He slammed the restroom door behind him.

I tried not to step in any more of the blood, but it was too late. Fat Ernst stood with his back to the door, hands on his hips. He looked at the floor and didn’t say anything. Finally, he pursed his lips and said, “I need that fifty bucks.” My first instinct was to reach into my pocket and grab the money. But I didn’t. I held back and crossed my arms in front of my chest in a gesture of defiance instead. Fat Ernst still didn’t look at me. “I know it ain’t right. You earned it.”

You’re goddamn right I earned it, I thought.

Fat Ernst said, “I got nothing right now. Nothing, you understand?” He raised his eyes, found mine. “And unless I pay off that asshole,” he said, jerking his head in Ray’s direction, “he’s gonna screw this place. If he calls this little incident in, then that’s it. They’ll shut me down. So I need help. I need that fifty bucks to help him look the other way. He’s got me over a barrel here and he knows it. Now.” Fat Ernst folded his arms. “You can either hand over the cash and keep your job, or I can just take it and you can get the hell out of here. Either way, I’m walking out of this bathroom with the money.”

I didn’t think about it long. I reached into my pocket, handed over the money. Fat Ernst accepted it almost delicately with one of his swollen, sausagelike fists. He said quietly, “Stick with me, boy. I got a plan. You’ll double your money.” With that, he opened the door and stepped out into the narrow hallway. “You still work here, so get busy.” He waddled off, saying, “Ray, let’s talk. But first, let’s get this stinking sonofabitch out back before he leaks any more blood on the floor.”

I grabbed my trusty mop and surveyed the scene. The bathroom was a mess. The smell attacked my eyes and lungs. I didn’t know where to start. I slapped the mop against the walls of the stall to let the water wash down. I had to scrape the mop back and forth to get the blood to flake off. As I worked, my mind started wandering. I figured I’d never see that fifty bucks again. Fat Ernst had a plan. Plan, my ass.

I flushed the toilet with the toe of my boot and watched as the blood swirled away. At the last second, I saw something white at the bottom of the bowl. I tensed, holding the mop above the toilet like a spear. Then it was gone, swallowed by the surging water. More worms? If it was another worm, then …

I shook my head. I didn’t want to think about what that meant. But I couldn’t help myself. If there were more worms in the toilet … that meant that all that meat, the meat from the steer that I had pulled out of the pit, the steer that was stuffed with those goddamn worms … that meant that Fat Ernst hadn’t sold the meat for dog food at all. He’d just used it for the restaurant. And I had helped him.

Fresh water began dribbling slowly into the bowl, washing some of the blood away. I caught sight of the pale shape again as the bowl filled with clear water. Little blocks of white, arranged in a half circle. Then I figured it out. It was Heck’s dentures. They must have landed in the toilet when he was puking. I took a deep breath and held it, thanking God it wasn’t the worms.

Still, as much as I hated to think about it, I had to admit that it made a certain kind of sense. It explained Heck getting sick, for one thing. And when had Fat Ernst found the time to take the meat to God knows where for dog food, gotten paid, and then gone and bought more meat from God knows where, all before eight o’clock in the morning? The more I thought about it, the more uneasy I felt. And as I kept thinking about the whole thing, a creeping sense of guilt filled my chest. It felt heavy and hot, like boiling lead. So in the end, I just didn’tthink about it, and concentrated on cleaning up the blood instead. It was easier that way. But I made a promise to myself to check out the rest of the meat in the refrigerator as soon as I got the chance.

I wouldn’t want to eat off the toilet like Fat Ernst had instructed, but it wasn’t too bad. I managed to mop up just about all of the blood in the bathroom, except for a few reddish brown stains on the grouting between the tiles in a few places. I dumped the water in my bucket into the toilet and filled it back up with some hot water in the sink.